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IN DAYS OF OLD 

CLEMANS. 







/ 




\ * 



IN DAYS OF OLD 



A COLONIAL ROMANCE 



IN FIVE ACTS 



BY 



LOUIS L CLEMANS 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



MONSON^CORRIE PRESS 
WABASH, INDIANA 



f 






THE LIBRARY Of 
CONGRESS, 

Two Comes Recbvcd 

DEC. 23 1902 

»KJHT BKTWT 

Cs- xXa Ho. 

2. o i/- k 
COPY B. 



COPYRIGHT, 1902. 
BY LOUIS L. CLEMANS. 



TMP92-008853 



TO THE MEMORY 
OF 
THE PATRIOTS WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES 
FOR THE SACRED CAUSE OF LIBERTY 
AND FELL IN THE DEFENSE OF THEIR 
COUNTRY, THIS LITTLE ROMANCE IS 
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

THE AUTHOR. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS, 

Stephen Prescott, A New York Merchant. 

Harold Peyton A Colonial Patriot. 

Sidney Wolfe Major of British Hussars. 

Ned Prescott A Fugitive from Justice. 

Jack Reynolds A Loyalist Friend. 

Dick Prescott The Youngest Brother. 

Matthias A Servant to the Prescotts. 

Messenger From Continental Army. 

John Waiter at the Windsor. 

Elizabeth Prescott Wife of Stephen Prescott. 

Nelle Prescott Jack Reynold's Sweetheart 

Margaret Peyton The Wife; A Fair Loyalist. 



SYNOPSIS. 

Act i. Sunday, April 23rd, 1775. 

The Separation. 
Act ii. December 18th, 1779. 

The Plot. 
Act in* Christmas Eve, 1779. 

Face to Face. 
Act iv. Christmas Day, 1779. 

Driven from Home. 

Act v. April 23rd, 17*6. 
Retribution. 



COSTUMES. 



Period: 1775-1786. 
Stephen Prescott: Suit of black. 
Harold Peyton: Act 1. Suit of black. Act 3. Uniform 

of Captain of Continental Dragoons. Military 

cloak. Act 5. English Court Costume of 1786. 
Sidney Wolfe: Act 2. Uniform of Major of British 

Hussars. Act ■'>. English Court Costume of 1786. 
Ned Prescott: Act 1. Rough seaman's garb of 1775. 

Act 4. Ragged uniform of Continental Army. 

Act 5. English Court Costume of 1786. 
Dick Prescott: Private's Uniform of British Hussars. 
Jack Reynolds: Act 1. Suit of black. Act 2. Uniform 

of Lieutenant of British Hussars. Act 5. English 

Court Costume of 1786. 
Matthias: Suit of brown. 
Messenger: Farmer's garb, 1775. 
Waiter: English Livery of 1786. 
Elizabeth Prescott: Martha Washington dress. 
Nelle Prescott: Dresses of the period; with handsome 

English Court Costume for last act. 
Margaret Peyton: Handsome gowns of the period. 



SCENE PLOT. 



Act 1 — Parlor in the Prescott home. Fancy In- 
terior boxed in 4. Backed by Street in 5. Large 
practical window, 6x8, C. in flat, with a practical 
window seat filling recess. Practical door, L. u. E. 
Set fireplace, L. 2. e. Large double arch, R. 2. and 3 
e; backed b} r single arch which in turn is backed by 
fancy interior. Practical winding staircase, R. u. E. 
with wide steps and heavy balustrade. Table and 
two chairs, R. c. Sofa, L. c. Other fancy furniture 
and bric-a-brac to make an elaborate set. 

Act 2 — Headquarters of Major Wolfe: An apart- 
ment in the Prescott home. Center Door Fancy 
boxed in 3. Backed by Plain Chamber in 4. Set 
mantle. R. 1. E. Practical doors, R. and L. Fancy 
table and two chairs, L. c. Divan up R. Center 
opening in flat, heavily draped. 

Acts — Boudoir of Margaret Peyton. Fancy 
Chamber boxed in 3. Practical door in flat, R. 
Practical window, two feet and one-half from floor, 
\\ 2. E. Chiffonier, r. 3. e. Bed and canopy, l. 
Table and two chairs, L. C. Elaborate set. 

Act 4— Same set as Act 1. Winter street backing. 



.] r/ .7— Fashionable suite of lodgings, London. 
Supposed to be on second floor. Fancy Interior in 
4, boxed. Practical French window, c. in flat, open- 
ing on practical bal ony with breakaway balustrade. 
Backed by Exterior showing London housetops. 
Large arch, L. 2. E. heavily draped with portieres. 
Practical door, R. 2. E. (Built to breakaway). Fan- 
cy table and chairs, L. c. Fancy divan, R. Mantel, 
up R. Build platform, two feet high, for balcony, 
extending inside and just filling window. Two wide 
steps up to window. Elaborate set as possible. 



TIME OF PLAYING — TWO HOURS. 



IN DAYS OF OLD, 



ACT ONE. 

Scene: Parlor in the Prescott home. Stephen 
Prescott discovered coming down stairway — goes 
to window in fiat — looks out. 

Stephen. This is indeed a splendid spring morn- 
ing-. Strange it is — that this Sabbath day, when our 
beloved colonies are on the verge of war with the 
mother country, amid such surroundings— all nature 
should unite in breathing forth a hymn of gladness, 
of peace and of beauty. ( Chimes Heard in the distance.) 
Ah, the bells call us to the house of worship. It is 
right that we should return thanks for the many 
blessings that have been showered upon us. Oh! 
that I could enjoy the beauties of this day, {down to 
table. ) but the bitter memories of the past have 
effaced all hope of pleasure, {sits right of table.) 'Twas 
just such a pretty Sunday morning, one short year 
ago, that my eldest son, the pride of his father's 
heart, crushed out all our brightest hopes, when he 
stood before us, a self-confessed thief. Since that 
time the dark pall that has enveloped us like a shroud, 
has never lifted for one moment Had the ground 
opened and engulfed him, his disappearance could 



12 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

not have been more complete and although I should 
not have hesitated in turning him over to the proper 
authorities for punishment, I often wonder what has 
been his fate. 

Enter Matthias, l. u. e., comes clown. 

Stephen. Well, Matthias, what's wanting? 

Matthias. Please, sir, if you will only forgive 
me for disobeying your orders. I mean no oft'ense, 
sir, but I would ask you to grant a favor. 

Stephen. What is it, Matthias? You well enough 
know that I never refuse any reasonable request. 

Matthias. A friend of mine, or at least, sir, an 
acquaintance whom I feel very friendly towards, is 
outside and seems to be very much in need, sir. If 
you would only see him, sir. 

Stephen. A friend of yours in distress, Matthias? 
Who is it? 

Matthias. Master Ned, sir. Oh! please, Mr. 
Prescott, let him come in. 

Stephen, (rises) No, sir! (crosses, l. ) I have sworn 
that he shall never darken the threshold of my house 
again. Even tho' he is my own son, he is a fugitive 
from justice and must pay 

Matthias. But I beg of you, Mr. Prescott, the 
lad is ill. He has erred it is true; but, sir, I assure 
you he is a, changed man. 

Stephen. No doubt, he is changed for the worse. 
Lucky for him that it is Sunday morning, (Enter 
Elizabeth Prescott and Margaret Peyton down 
stairway) or I should hand him over to the constable 
this moment. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 13 

Margaret, (comes down r.) Why, father, who is 
it you would hand over to the officers'? 

Elizabeth, (left of table) You do not answer. 
(pause) Matthias, to w T hom does he refer? 

Matthias. Master Edward, ma'am. 

Margaret. i\ed back! 

Elizabeth. Oh! dear me, my poor boy! Where 
is he, Matthias, where is he? 

Matthias. Waiting* in the garden, ma'am. He 
arrived on the ship last evening 1 , but just came on 
shore an hour ago. 

Stephen. He had sense enough to know Sunday 
was safer. 

M*cthias. I was down to Valentine's to inquire 
after his sick daughter and ran across Master Ned 
upQn the dock unawares. He looked so very ill and 
wretched, ma'am, that I persuaded him to come home 
with me. 

Stpehen. Don't lie to me. You mean that he 
persuaded you to come and intercede for him. 

Matthias. I beg pardon, sir, he is much changed. 
He says that he has reformed and I believe he has, 
for he shows the truest signs of penitence. 

Elizabeth, (crosses to Stephen) Stephen, you had 
better tell Matthias to bring him in. If you don't, 
goodness only knows what he may do. 

Stephen. Madam, would you have me break the 
oath I swore, when we learned the infamy which h^ 
had heaped upon us. 

Margaret. Oh! papa, think what people will saj\ 
If he has reformed 



U IN DAYS OF OLD. 

Stephen. Let him show by his future conduct 
that his reformation is complete, and when he finds 
that I refuse to look upon him as my son, let him de- 
liver himself like a man — to the law for punishment, 
and pay the penalty of his crime. 

Elizabeth. Don't, Stephen, dont! I never could 
endure the sliame. A jailbird in our family ; I should 
not dare to show my face in public. Oh, the disgrace! 

Margaret. Papa, you won't send him to prison, 
will you? 

Matthias. Really, if you would only see him ; if 
but for a moment 

Elizabeth. Stephen, he may wish to make atone- 
ment for past. I pray you, grant this one request. 

Margaret. Oh, please do, father! 

Elizabeth. When all nature is at peace — on this 
ideal spring day — thankfulness to our God for his 
mercies, should lead us to cherish a spirit of forgive- 
ness. "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive 
those who trespass against us." 

Stephen, (crosses to chair, R. of table— sits) Tell 
him, he may come. 

Matthias. Very well, sir. Exit l. u. e. 

Elizabeth, (crosses to l. of table) Stephen, for my 
sake, please do not be to severe with the poor boy. 
You won't, will } 7 ouV 

Ned Prescott enters l. u. e.— hesitates — then 
rushes into Elizabeth Prescott's arms. 

Ned. Mother! 

Elizabeth. Ned, my boy! my boy! 

Ned. (by table — offers /ut/n/ to Stephen) Father! 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 15 

Stephen, {refuses to take hand) So you have dared 
to return. I hardly t li< >ug*ht you brazen enough to do 
so. Have you forg A ^>n': 

Ned. Have I forgot Len, sir; I wish to Heaven I 
could forget. I don't know why you deserved to 
have a son like me. But I have suffered. A fugi- 
tive from justice — ashamed to look my fellowman in 
the face — startled at every little sound — feeling that 
the hounds of fate were at my heels, dogging my 
every step. — slowly — surely. 

Margaret. My poor brother! 

Stephen. You have wrecked your life with your 
eyes open — it is too late to alter it now. 

Ned. Father, }^ou haven't had my trials and temp- 
tations. You haven't had to endure my sufferings. 
You haven't had something here — (hand on breast) 
which gnaws and gnaws, day and night, day and 
night: while the whole world points the finger of 
scorn and cries aloud the story of your downfall. 
You may live on; hut you are only a husk — a shell— 
the frame of a man: the good has left you. 

Stephen. The world seems to have placed you in 
a very humble mood. 

Ned. "The way of the the transgressor is hard." 
When I reached the city of London, two months ago, 
I was on the verge of despair — the night was bitter 
cold — I was almost frozen. I saw a bright light in a 
little chapel. I knew that I could at least find warmth 
inside — so like the guilty wretch, I am, I crept in un- 
observed and sank into a pew. The preacher told 
the story of the prodigal s: n — how he returned and 



16 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

was forgiven. I'm a bit like him, sir, and — and — I've 
came back. 

Stephen. You can't count on the fatted calf, how 
ever. 

Ned. I don't ask it Bread and water will do for 
me. My sin was a grievous one; grievously have I 
atoned! I came back to say that I was sorry — and 
— to see all of you once more. 

Stephen. Where do you intend to live and howV 

Ned. I hardly know. If only I might stay here 
till I could find employment. 

Stephen. My intentions were, should you ever 
again set foot in New York, to have meted out to 
you the punishment you so richly deserve. I do not 
give up my intention, I shall on'.y postpone carrying 
it into execution during your good behavior. You 
may remain here until you find employment. 

Ned. Thank you, sir. I dare say it is more than 
I deserve. I will try to give you no cause to regret 
doing so. Mother, have you a room for me'? 

Elizabeth. Yes, my son, you may have the same 
old room; it is just as you left it a year ago. 

Ned. Thank you, mother, (kisses her) 1 will try to 
get a few hours sleep; I am completely worn out and 
need rest. Exit up stairway. 

Elizabeth, {crosses to stairs) I'll call you in plenty 
of time for dinner, (at n. 2. E.) Stephen, do you kirvw 
that it's time for churchy The bell rang quite a 
while ago. 

Stephen. As soon as you are ready, we will go. 

Exit Elizabeth, r. 2. e. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 17 

Stephen. Are you going with us, my daughter? 

Margaret. No, not this morning, father. I have 
some letters to write, which I am very anxious to 
send to London, and the vessel sails early tomorrow 
morning. 

Stephen. Just as you wish, daughter; but I would 
not set my mind too firmly on this London trip. 

Margaret. Why not, father? 

Stephen. There is many a slip 'twixt cup and 
lip. Something may happen to change your plans. 

Margaret. If anything should happen, that I 
could not go, the disappointment would nearly kill 
me. 

Stephen. I hope, for your sake, that nothing will 
happen to prevent your sailing as now arranged, but 
don't build too many castles in the air. Life is made 
up of disappointments. Where is Nelle"? 1 haven't 
had a glimpse of her since breakfast. 

Margaret. She went over to Valentine's with 
a basket of dainties for their sick daughter, and as 
yet, has not returned. More than likely she has met 
Jack Reynolds on the way and they are taking their 
time in returning. 

Elizabeth, [outside) Stephen! are you going with 
me, or are you going to stand there talking an hour 
or two longer? 

Stephen. I'm coming at once, mother. ( Exit R. 2. e. 

Margaret. I wonder what keeps Harold so long. 
{up to window) He said that he would be gone but 
half an hour, and it is nearly two hours since he 
started away. Poor boy. he must have taken a longer 



18 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

walk than usual; but after a whole week in that 
dingy old office, he needs plenty of exercise and 
fresh air. (down to sofa — sitx) Oh, how good he is to 
me. We have been married just a month and never 
for a moment has he ceased to be the attentive and 
faithful lover. Papa says he is a splendid man at 
the office, so kind and courteous 'to all; and for that 
reason offered Harry the management of the London 
branch. How happy we shall be in dear old London. 
Ever since I wasalittle child I have wished for noth- 
ing better than to live in the gay whirl of London 
society; and now that my wishes are so soon to be 
gratified, my happiness knows no bounds. 

Enter Nelle, unobserved, L. u. e. — slips down behind 
■sofa. 

Nelle. Boo! Margaret jumps up — scrtams. 

Margaret. Oh my! you naughty girl, how you 
frightened me. 

Nelle. Oh, did I? Well, I'm sorry, of course, 
but it was too good a chance to let slip. 

Margaret. So you take all the chances you get, 
do you? Well, look out or you may let one chance 
slip, that you will be sorry for. 

Nelle. What are you talking about, anyway? 

Margaret. Your chances of catching Jack. 
Kate Claxton would make any sacrifice to win him 
from you. 

Nelle. Well, let her have him; I don't care! Yes, 
I do care, too. But she never knows her own mind. 
She thought she had caught brother Ned once u] on 
a time, you know. 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 19 

Margaret. Oh, Nelle, did you know that Ned is 
here. 

Nelle. In New York? 

Margaret. Yes, at home. 

Nelle. Madge, dear, don't jest. Is he really at 
home again; poor Ned. 

Margaret. Yes, he is in his room upstairs. 

Nelle. I am going up and see him this very 
minute. (Marts for stairway. 

Margaret. Don't disturb him: he is ill and 
wishes to sleep. 

Nklle. {pauses <»i t bottom step) I don't care; he is 
my brother and I am going to see 

Re-enter Matthias, hurriedly. 
Matthias Mr. Jack Reynolds. 
Nelle. ('comes down) Bid him enter. 
Maiigaret. Well, dear, I am going to my room 
and write my letters. 

Enter Jack, l. u. e., as Margaret r; j aclies stairway. 

Jack. Good morning, ladies, (to Margaret) Do 
not let poor me drive you away. 

Margaret. Oh! certainly not. But I remember 
the old saying— "Two's company, three's a crowd. " 

Nelle. She speaks from experience, Jack; she's 
only been married a month, (all laugh) 

Exit Margaret, up stairs. 

Jack. Do you think she will change her mind? 

Nelle. Oh, yes! thev all do. 



20 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Jack. How often have I noticed that the weaker 
sex were very changeable. The poet undoubtedly 
knew them well when he penned these lines : 
"Oh, woman! in our hours of ease, 

Uncertain, coy and hard to please, 
And variable as the shade 

By the quivering aspen made.' 1 

Nelle. Let us change the subject. Why were 
you not at Miss Claxton's reception, last evening? 
You promised to come. 

Jack. Was it a reception? I thought it was only 
.a tea, and I simply cannot tolerate teas. 

Nelle. Well, what great difference is there be- 
tween a tea and a reception? 

Jack When you go to a tea, they serve tea and 
cakes; at a reception you get a good, square meal. 

Nelle. Oh, I understand. To a man, it is sim- 
ply a difference in the fare. 

Jack. That is a very fair definition. 

Nklle. So man, beinga worshiper of his stomach, 
avoids teas; but is seldom absent from receptions. 

Jack. I believe that you are partly right. On the 
other hand, a tea is only an excuse for the gathering 
together of a lot of women, old and ugly, young and 
pretty, sombre and sad, gay and witty; so they may 
admire each other's gowns to each other's faces, and 
afterward make remarks of a different sort in their 
absence. 

Nelle. Don't you think that my new gown is 
pretty. 

Jack. Who heeds the make of the gown, when the 
wearer is of divine make. 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 21 

Nelle. Don't be silly. Had you known the fine 
compliment Kate passed upon you; you would have 
attended the reception had it been only a tea. 

Jack. What did Miss Claxton say? 

Nelle. I won't tell you, 'twould make you vain. 

Jack. No, it won't! 

Nelle. Yes, it will! Don't you think she is very 
pretty V 

Jack. What did she say? I am anxious to know. 

Nelle. Yes, I know you are — you always are. 
She's a very pretty girl, and I've heard you say so, 
too! You're in love with her, so you are. Well, I 
don't care; {half- cry intj) you're not the only man in 
this world. 

Jack. Oh, I don't know. There is one o-irl that 
thinks so, anyway. 

Nelle. I don't! Oh, I mean I'm sure there is 
nobody that does. 

Jack. But there is. Such a pretty girl, too, with 
such sparkling blue eyes— 

Nelle. Jack! My eyes are blue. 

Jack. But I didn't say that you were the girl. 
This girl really cares for me. 

Nelle. Oh! Kate Claxton. If I were a man, I 
would pick out someone who looked like somebody at 
least. 

Jack. People who are not jealous, say she is very 
pretty. 

Nelle. Jealous! Jack Keynolds! I'm not. 

Jack. Who said vou were? 



22 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Nelle. You did. You may think as you please; 
but you have no right to make such absurd accusa- 
tions. Jealous, why, Jack, I am surprised at you. 

Jack. I know that one woman cannot bear to hear 
another praised for her good looks or pretty gowns. 

Nelle. It is a vice incurred from the frequent 
examples set us by different members of your sex. 

Jack. Imitation is the sincerest flattery. Come, 
Nelle, we must not quarrel. I should never forgive 
myself if I said one unkind word to you. 

Nelle. Tnen why do you do so? 

Jack. Did IV 

Nelle. Yes, you did. 

Jack Nelle! {pause) Nelle! (pause) She's mad. 
Woman is made of wax. A little love melts her. (goes 
to her — places arms about tier) Nelle, dear, you must 
forgive me. 

Nelle. I don't see why I should. 

Jack. But you will, won't you, deary (kisses her) 

Nelle. I don't know. 

Jack. Yes, you do You know you will. Now 
don't make ire coax you. 

Nelle. Hut I like to be coaxed. 

•Jack, (kissing her again) Now am I forgiven? 

Nelle. Just this once; but you must never do it 
again. 

Jack. Even now I haven't the faintest idea what 
I have done; but here, on my bended knee, I promise 
never to do it again. Now, tell me, what did Miss 
Claxton say? 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 23 

Nelle. She said that you were the handsomest 
man is New York, and that she had fallen deeply in 
love with you. 

Jack. Sorry I can't return the compliment. She 
is a pretty girl, of course; but 

Nelle. You confess it? 

Jack. I can't help it; she is pretty enough, as 
girls go — 

Nelle. As girls go — I like that. 

Jack. But, my dear, you cannot compare mere 
prettiness with royal beauty like yours. 

Nelle. Now, Jack, you know you don't really 
think me pretty. 

Jack. Nelle, if you will but look through my eyes 
into the innermost recesses of my heart, you will 
find mirrored there but one face — peerless in it's 
beauty and love — your own. 

Nelle. Then you do love me a little? 

Jack. Love you? How much I cannot find words 
to express; but more than anything else in all this 
world. Have I not told you so, hundreds of times. 

Nelle. But I like to hear you say it again and 
again. 

Jack. Oh, you little rogue! {kisses her — she breaks 
away — he chases her around stage.) 

Nelle. Don't! here comes Harry. 

Enter Harold Peyton, l. u. e. 

Harold. Hello! playing tag on Sunday morning? 
Why, Nelle, ain't you ashamed? 
Nelle. No, I ain't! 



24 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

Harold. Well, Jack, have you heard any late 
news from Boston? 

Nelle. (angrily) You two make me weary! 

Harold. Why, Nelie! What's wrong now*? 

Nelle. Oh, nothing! Only Jack and you are 
eternally and all the time talking war. You have 
discussed the "Boston Tea Party" until I can't even 
look at a cup of tea. I am going up to Margaret's 
room, and I am going to stay there till you get this 
war fought and settled to your mutual satisfaction. 
You make me tired. Exit up stairway. 

Jack, (sits on sofa) No, nothing definite. But I 
have finally arrived at the conclusion, that at last we 
stand on the brink of the precipice — with a chasm of 
unknown depth yawning at our feet. 

Harold, (l. of table) You are right. The crisis 
is at hand and the events of the coming week will 
most certainly decide the momentous question of 
peace or war. If the colonies go to the extent of 
openingly firing upon the flag of Great Britian, a few 
days will determine if the victory is to be a bloodless 
one, or if peace is to be purchased at the price of 
war. 

Jack. General Gage has most surely had things 
his own way so far, and if the boasted "minute men" 
dared to fight, they would by this time have shown 
some symptons of it. You may depend upon this 
one fact; the Continental army will never fire a gun 
as long as the "red-coats" show a bold front. 

Harold. I wish I could view matters in the same 
light, Jack, but I have lived among the colonists for 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 25 

fifteen years and I am sure that the British underes- 
timate their bravery and patriotism. 

Jack. It is impossible to underestimate any man- 
ly quality in a colonial ''rebel," who refuses allegi- 
ance to King George III. 

Harold. Yes, I understand that such is the gen- 
eral opinion of the loyal subjects of the British crown 
yet I, myself, have met many brave men among these 
patriots, who would face danger of any magnitude 
without shrinking, and prove themselves worthy 
adversaries of any foe. 

Jack. I cannot agree with you, Harold. Your 
patriotic "rebels'' may be brave enough during 
times of peace, but it is war, with all its attendant 
horrors that gives birth to patriotism. Should the 
men under General Gage come in contact with the 
•'rebel" volunteer army, and their boasted "minute 
men" have a chance to smell burnt powder, what 
would be the effect? 

{horses hoofs heard in the- distance, gradually 
growing nearer. ) 

Harold. The effect, sir, will be that of a torch 
applied to a train of powder. Every city and town 
will be a camp, every cross-road a rallying point. 
The colonies will put forth every effort, and although 
the entire country be devastated by fire and sword: 
the cause will not be lost, {up to window.) 

Jack. No! for the rebellion will be crushed out! 

Messenger rides on bark of window — horse covered 
with foam — both rider and horse appear morn out. 



26 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Messenger. Whoa! 

Harold, (opens window) Friend, you ride as if 
good horses were as plenty as worthless dragoons. 

Messenger. Neither horse nor man is spared in 
the service of the Continental army. I am seeking 
Stephen Prescott. 

Harold. Mr. Prescott is at church; an} r trouble? 

Messenger. Well, now, I guess, trouble is no 
name for it. I'm bringing news from Massachusetts. 
{slaps ha iids on papers in coat pocket.) 

Jack. Has anything happened at Boston? 

Messenger. Well, no, not just at Boston. But 
out Concord way and at Lexington, and on the high 
road back to Boston, I reckon as how a few things 
had happened. You see, sirs, it was this way: On 
last Tuesday night, General Gage sent a secret ex- 
pedition, under command of Major Piteairn, from 
Boston, to arrest Samuel Adams and John Hancock 
at Lexington, and to seize and destroy the military 
stores collected at Concord. Our patriots were on 
the watch, and at the first move, hung a signal from 
the tower of Old North Church. A silversmith, Paul 
Revere, by name, rode like a madman through the 
country, spreading the news, "The 'regulars' are 
coming!" At daybreak, the British arrived at Lex- 
ington to find fifty '"minute men" drawn up on the 
village green. The advance guard fired upon them, 
and seven brave men fell: but they held their ground 
until the main body of the regulars came up. Then 
they gave way and the "red coats" pushed on to Con- 
cord. Here they failed to find any stores; but affairs 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 27 

took a sudden turn. Five hundred British regulars, 
who were guarding Concord bridge, were driven 
back by several hundred "minute men' 1 who had has- 
tily arrived from the neighboring towns. The posi- 
tion of British became perilous and at noon they 
started for Boston, exposed to a galling fire from all 
sides. Exhausted by an eighteen mile march and no 
provisions, they were soon put to rout, and entered 
Boston on the full run: leaving about three hundred 
dead to mark the path of their flight. But I must be 
on my way, these messages are important, {rides off 
— sound of galloping hoofs dies away in the distance.) 

Harold, [closes window — comes down) The words 
of Patrick Henry have at last come true. "There is 
no longer room for hope — we must fight!" 

Jack. The British will wreak dire vengeance up- 
on the Continental army for this blow. 

Harold, (l. of table) They may attempt it; but 
tne fight at Concord bridge will cause the colonies to 
stand more closely together. 

Jack, (rises) Aye, against the rebellious party. 

Harold. When I spoke of the colonies, I referred 
to what you are pleased to call the rebellious party. 

Jack. The rebels are not in the majority, there- 
fore you can not say that they represent the colonies. 

Harold. Pardon me, Jack, we shall find that they 
are in the majority, at least, outside of the larger 
towns. This news will fly to every corner of our 
country, as fast as brave men on fleet-footed steeds 
can carry it; and put the country folk in readiness 
for whatever the Continental Congress may decide 



28 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

to do. This first shot will yet be heard around the 
world. 

Enter Nelle, down stairway. 

Jack. Their activity will put the loyal subjects of 
the British crown on their guard, ready for what 
these few "rebels" may attempt. 

Harold, (rises) Don't call the colonists "rebels. " 
They are good honest people striving to throw off 
the foot of the oppressor and only ask that they may 
at least have a voice in the dictation of the laws 
under which they must live. Once for all, I say, 
this is my country, may she always be right; but my 
country, right or wrong! 

Nelle. Bravo! Harry. 

Enter Stephen and Elizabeth, r 2. e., come down r. 

Stephen. Have you heard the newsV 

Harold. Yes, I think we were among the first to 
hear it. 

Stephen. Nothing short of a miracle can prevent 
war now. The service was just closing when a mes- 
senger rode up to the church door with the startling 
news. The entire assemblage was electrified by his 
account of the battle at Lexington. Captain Graham 
at once ordered out his company of volunteers, and 
will hasten to join the Continental army at Boston. 

Nelle. (r. c.) Well, I don't care; I will not 
believe we shall have war, until I see the troops 
marching through these very streets. 

Enter Margaukt, down stairs. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 29 

Elizabeth. Let us talk of something else. The 
very thought of war makes my blood run cold. 

Harold. My dear ladies, I believe it is best to 
think of this war as if it were even now at our doors, 
and thus fortify ourselves to endure it's horrors. I 
shall teach Margaret to do so. 

Margaret, {down c. i What care I, whether war 
is declared or not. 'Tis only a few short weeks un- 
til we shall be safe in England. 

Harold But if war is declared, the date of our 
sailing must be postponed. 

Margaret. Postponed! for how long? 

Harold. Until this question of peace or war is 
decided, 

Elizabeth. Why should you concern yourself 
about the colonies and their troubles? King George 
has soldiers enough. 

Ned appears on stairs— listens— cornea slowly down. 

Harold. You are right: 'tis the colonies will 
need the soldiers. 

Margaret. Then why must we stay? 

Harold. That I may take my part in it, Margaret. 

Jack. Bravo! Harry — neither of us shall forfeit 
a chance to fight for our king. 

Harold. Not for your king shall I be fighting; 
but for the cause of American Independence. 

Stephen. My boy. I am proud to grasp you by 
the hand. 

Ned. (c. ) Harold, I shall go with you. I am only 
a poor outcast — a fugitive from justice — friendless 



30 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

and alone — knocked about from pillar to post- -what 
better fate than to die in defense of my country! 
(shakes hands with Harold.) 

Stephen. My sod, you have spoken nobly. Now 
is the chance to retrieve your good name. I freely 
forgive you the many hours of anguish which you 
caused, and will earnestly pray for your success. 

Elizabeth. So the rebels have made converts 
even in my own house. 

Stephen. Madam, are you not loyal to the colo- 
nies? 

Elizabeth. Sir! I am a Van Astor. 

Margaret. Good! No one shall destroy our 
allegiance to our king, mother. Do you understand 
that, Mr. Harold Peyton? 

Harold. Mr. Prescott, since we are become 
rebels ag - ainst the king; our wives pay us in the same 
coin, and turn rebels against their husbands. 

Margaret. This is no time for jests. One thing 
alone concerns me — my visit to London. Oh! Harry, 
you will not dissapoint me, will you, dear? 

Harold. I do not wish to disappoint you; but my 
place is here. Honor demands it. When I am con- 
fronted by the awful truth, I feel that to stand idly 
by, or to leave in the hour of such deadly peril to my 
country, would be to forfeit my own self- respect and 
invite the just contempt of all loyal, patriotic men. 
We must wait. 

Margaret. You have no right to make me wait. 
You have made promises, and you must redeem them. 
You told me long ago that we should go to London on 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 31 

the first of June; since then — day and night, I have 
thought of it — dreamed of it — until it has become a 
part of my very existence; and now you say that we 
must wait, at least, months — perhaps, years. You 
have deceived me — the woman, whom you promised 
to cherish, honor and obey, until death do us part. 
And I have loved you as no woman ever loved before. 
I thought you the very soul of honor: but, ever since 
the day when first we met, you have been a living 
lie — winning a woman's love under a false pretense. 
'T is the height of treachery — the act of a coward. 
A man of common honesty would keep his word: but 
you, a gentleman, who have said you would make 
any sacrifice to insure my happiness, decline to 
grant my one request. ir Tis cruel — unjust. 

Harold. Don't you understand, Margaret, my 
love, one has no choice when patriotism dictates. I 
would make any sacrifice that an honest man can 
make for your sake; but 

Elizabeth. Harold, you have your wife and your 
own future to consider. Kemember that your first 
thought should be for each other's happiness, and 
if you refuse my daughter's request, you will break 
her heart. 

Margaret. Oh! Harry, my love, think how I 
have set my heart on going. For vr y sake, my love, 
sweetheart, do not remain. Say we shall go, Harry, 
and you'll make me, oh! so happy. 

Harold My dear Margaret, I shouldn't be a 
man if I left America at this time. If I did: if I 
were to discard honor and trample upon principle, 



32 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

your own true heart would be the first to turn from 
me in contempt. I should not be worthy of you. 

Margaret. Worthy! Is any man worthy of a 
woman, when he repays her love with such cruelty? 
You talk of principle — of honor — when you speak of 
your country's demands upon you. In God's name, 
what claim has the colonies upon you, equal to the 
claim of your own wife? Is honor but a cloak to put 
on and off at will? Oh! Harry, you are only jesting" 
are you not — just trying to test the depth of my love 
—you will keep your promise — won't you, dear. 

Harold. It was not exactly a promise, dear. 

Margaret. It was a promise — as sacred as any 
promise ever made. If you wisli to keep my |ove— 
fulfill this pledge; if you do not, you break my heart 
and instead of my warmest love, will receive nothing 
but my deepest hatred and contempt. You must 
choose now. Make this sacrifice for me — you must — 
you shall. If you don't, I'll hate you — I'll hate you! 
{sinks into chair by table) 

Harold. Margaret, dear, you are not yourself. 

Margaret, (-rises) More than ever myself and 
my own mistress, too. Speak, I command you! 
Shall we go"? Will you do as your wife wishes? 

Harold. I will do as your husband ought! 

Margaret. Shall we sail for London in June? 

Harold. No! I shall stay till the fate of the colo- 
nies are decided, and lo fight for them if need be! 

Margaret. So this is the depth of the great love 
which you professed for me. A love which is only 
governed by the whims and selfish motives of it's 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 33 

master. A love which can cast the pure love of an 
honest woman aside for the sake of a crazy notion of 
patriotism. Very well, sir, how I shall hate you for 
it. (Harold steps toward her.) Do not touch me, 
Harold Peyton; here you and I part forever. Not 
only does your choice place an unsurmountable bar- 
rier between us; but even as water slowly dropped, 
drop by drop, upon living embers will destroy them; 
so will your perfidy and the memory of my wrongs, 
reduce the warm and tender passion I once felt to 
the dead ashes of indifference. Your wife in name, 
I still must be; but I would rather beg, starve, die! 
than link myself to the misery of an existence to be 
dragged out with you! {■starts up stairway.) 
Harold, {pleadingly) Margaret! 

END OF FIRST ACT. 



ACT SECOND, 

Scene: Headquarters of Major Sidney Wolfe. 

Jack Reynolds enters hurriedly, c. d., at rise of 

curtain. 
Jack. I wonder where Nelle can be? I have 
searched for her everywhere. I am only off duty 
for an hour and must see her. I can't understand 
her at all. But where in all this wide world will you 
find a woman that you can understand? She pro- 
fesses to love me dearly, and yet at the dance last 
evening, she ignored me entirely and seemed so 
devoted to Captain McLean. I want an explanation 
and I'm going to have it. I wonder if she really does 
love me and is only trying to tease. This love is a 
funny thing. 

Enter Nelle, d. r. 

Jack. "Mysterious love— uncertain treasure, 
Hast thou more of pain or pleasure! 
Endless torments dwell about thee; 
Yet who would live, and live withouL thee! 
(sinks into chair, R. ofT.) Oh! dear, (sighs) 



36 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Nelle. (crosses to c.) What a sigh! Are you in 
pain? 

Jack. In pain? No; a hundred times worse than 
that — I am in love! 

Nelle. No! 

Jack.. Yes! 

Nelle. You in love! (laughs) The idea — wilh 
whom? 

Jack. With you. 

Nelle. Never! 

Jack. Forever! (sighs) 

Nelle. And does that make you sigh? 

Jack. It's enough to make any fellow sigh. The 
worst part of it- -I know that you love another. 

Nelle. Another! Who? 

Jack. Captain McLean. I noticed your adoration 
taking complete control of you last evening. 

Nelle. Why should you care? The:-. 4 are plenty 
of girls, "all the world loves a lover." 

Jack. Yes; except the girl the lover loves. 

Nelle. There is one thing that I can never be- 
lieve. 

Jack. And that is— 

Nelle. That you will ever fall seriously in love 
with anyone. You are too jealous hearted. 

Jack. Do not forget the old adage: "There is no 
true love without jealousy. 

Nelle. Nonsense! Jealousy is but another name 
for the green-eyed monster of distrust. True love 
is not jealous? 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 37 

Jack. So you think that only these English cap- 
tains love — and love truly? 

Nelle. Yes ; one woman at a time. 

Jack. Well, I am only a lieutenant now, maybe I 
will win promotion and learn a captain's way. Nelle, 
dari't you really and truly love meV 

Nelle. No; I love your uniform. 

Jack. 'Tis not the clothes that make the man. 

Nellp:. That is true enough, but many times it 
is the uniform that makes the soldier. 

Jack. Captain McLean deserved his promotion; 
such bravery merits reward. He attracts a great 
amount of attention. As a general rule, man attracts 
attention only at his birth, at his wedding and at his 
funeral. But since you have declared that only the 
English captains love truly; I am doubly glad for 
your sake. 

Nelle. Jack, a woman craves admiration; and 
just because the Captain seemed to enjoy my com- 
pany, you are angry with me. 

Jack. A woman may be for all men to admire, 
but she is for the happiness of only one. 

Nelle. And every man thinks himself the "only 
one. 11 (takes white rose, from her corsage, and hands it 
to Jack) In the language of flowers, Jack, the white 
rose is for "silent love 11 — a love to deep for words. 
A love, deep and true — a love, that waits patiently 
and believes — a love that trusts implicitly. Such a 
love every true woman gives — such a love every 
pure woman has a right to expect. Such a love I 
offer — such a love I demand. You are determined 



38 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

to have it, that I am in love with Captain McLean. 
I am in love 

Jack. Oh! (sighs) 

Nelle. With some one else. 

Jack. See here, Nelle, I want to know — I have a 
right to know— who is it you are in love with? Some 
major or colonel, I suppose. 

Nelle. No, only a lieutenant. 

Jack. Only a lieutenant! My equal in rank; I'll 
call him out. Where is he? Where is he, 1 say? 
What's his name? 

Nelle. John Quincy Reynolds. 

Jack. Me! Then why did you flirt with all the 
others, and not even condescend a glance toward me? 

Nelle. I wished to see if you cared. Say, Jack, 
do you know what I would do, if you should try to 
kiss me? 

Jack No! Why? 

Nelle. Oh, nothing, only you don't seem to have 
any curiosity. 

Jack. (<<si<le) I'm going to settle this right now. 
{aloud ) Nelle, I warn you that you have only fifteen 
minutes of grace. 

Nelle. (frightened) Why, what do you mean? 

Jack. The time has come! It is just thirteen 
minutes, thirteen seconds and three-quarters till two 
o'clock. At two o'clock, I leave you, perhaps forever. 
I must report to Major Wolfe for orders and may be 
sent from New York, and you will have lost your 
last chance. 

Nelle. My last chance! 






IN DAYS OF OLD. 39 

Jack. Yes, your last chance, to make me a happy 
man for life. Will you be my 

Nelle. {toys "'if/, rings) Don't be silly. 

Jack. Nelle, if you don't say "yes," I'll be a 
crusty old bachelor all the rest of my days. 

Nelle. As if I cared! (Jack takes her hands) 

Enter Sidney Wolfe, c. d. 

.1 A ck. Don 't you, really, dea v V 

Nelle. (lays Jibuti on his shoulder) Of course, you 
stupid, (just as Jack goes to kiss her) 

Sidney. Ahem! (they are confused) Lieutenant, 
that is hardly a military manouvre. 

Nelle. Major Wolfe, I think you are perfectly 
horrid. linns off stage, L. 

Jack. Major, I think you might have made a lit- 
tle noise before you came in — and saved Miss Pres- 
cott this embarrassment. 

Sidney. My boy, I think you yourself was to 
blame for the embarrassing position. She rather 
seemed to enjoy it. You appear to be well acquainted 
with Miss Nelle. 

Jack. Yes, I have known the family intimately 
for about ten years. Her youngest brother, Dick, 
and I have been comrades in peace as well as in war. 

Sidney. Then you are. no doubt, well acquainted 
with Captain Peyton and wife? 

Jack. Fully as well. 

Sidney. When did they last hear from Captain 
Peyton? 



40 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Jack.. About two years ago. He was wounded at 
Saratoga, and reported to have died in the hospital a 
few days later. 

Sidney. Does his wife believe him dead? 

Jack. As to that I am unable to say. Margaret 
was always a lover of romances; her highest ambition 
to shine in the fashionable society of London. Her 
father had offered her husband control of the London 
branch, and they were making preparations to go, 
when the news of Lexington came. She insisted on 
immediate departure; he refused and she parted from 
him in anger. From that day to this she has never 
uttered his name. 

Sidney. But did not the news of his death affect 
her? 

Jack. If so, she showed no outward sign. Yet it 
must have nearly broken her heart; he loved her so. 

Sidney. You spoke of Dick, as the younger 
brother? Is there an older son? 

Jack. Yes, though they never mention his name. 
Poor reckless Ned. 

Sidney. What has become of him? 

Jack. If all that one hears is true, he is in the 
rebel camp at Morristown. 

Sidnf.y. (at table, writing) Lieutenant! take this 
report to headquarters at once; I had nearly forgot- 
ten it. (Jack salutes a ml exits R. ) So, my pretty 
Margaret, I have at last unearthed the family skele- 
ton and fathomed your secret. No wonder you asked 
me so many questions about the gayeties of the Eng- 
lish Court. Ah, Margaret, you are a poor, romantic 



/.V DA YS OF OLD. 41 

little fool: but so much the better for me. I always 
admire a pretty face; but such rare beauty as yours 
is worth fighting for and if I have not lost all my ac- 
complishments in this American wilderness, I will 
win your love and lead you, my captive, to London. 
I wonder if Captain Peyton is really dead or alive. 
{tap at door) Euter! 

Enter Margaret, d. r. 

Margaret. I crave your pardon for intruding, 
Major Wolfe; but I wish to speak with you. 

Sidney. Will you be seated? Now what can I do 
for you? 

Margaret. You already know that my father is 
in sympathy with the American cause. One brother 
is in the rebel army and my husband was an Ameri- 
can officer. 

Sidney, {aside) She thinks him dead, {aloud) Yes. 

Margaret. Now I am a Tory at heart, and wish 
to aid the cause of King George III. 

Sidney. In what way. 

Margaret. In any way that lies in my power. 

Sidney. Being a woman, I am afraid that you can 
accomplish very little. 

Margaret. Sir, the strength of American arms 
in war comes from the soldiers' memory of the 
women they have left behind. 

Sidney. If I can aid you in any manner, command 
me. 

Margaret. Oh. sir, if you will only lend me your 
assistance, there will be no chance of failure. 



4-2 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Sidney. What would you have me do? 

Margaret. Choose fifteen trusted men from 
your command ; place }^ourself at their head and re- 
port to me for a secret expedition. Then if you will 
follow my instructions, you can obtain a great prize; 
one which will secure you promotion, bring me fame 
and win for us both the recognition of the King him- 
self. 

Sidney. I may not be successful. 

Margaret. That rests with you. If my plans 
are faithfully carried out you cannot fail. Will you 
attempt it? 

Sidney. Explain your plan. 

Margaret. No! not one word; till yon promise to 
make the attempt. 

Sidney. I promise. 

Margaret. Then swear to me, on your sacred 
word of honor 

Sidney. On my sacred word of honor— 

Margaret. As a soldier of the king— 

Sidney. As a soldier of the king— 

Margaret. Promise never to betray my trust, 

Sidnev. 1 promise never to betray your trust. 

Margaret. My plan is to kidnap General George 
Washington, C mmander-in-chief of the Continental 
Army. 

Sidney. Impossible! 

Margaret. No! nothing is impossible to one 
whose motto is to "do and dare!" 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 43 

Sidney. If successful your name shall be heralded 
from one corner of the universe to another and be 
emblazoned on history's page for all time to come. 

Margauet. Aye, to me, as to yourself, it means 
much. A name to be proud of as the years roll by. 
I have planned for our mutual gain. I have chosen 
you, because — because— 

Sidney. Because— 

Margaret. Because — I trust you. 

Sidney. What assurance have I, that this is not 
a plot to deliver me into the hands of the Continental 
army? 

Margaret. If you doubt my sincerity, take my 
brother Dick with your detail. You surely cannot 
think me base enough to deliver him to the enemy. 

Sidney. Enough! I will do your bidding. When 
is the appointed time? 

Margaret. Christmas eve. Tomorrow, choose 
from among your command fifteen men whose loyalty 
and daring are beyond question. At the appointed 
hour you will place yourself at their head and by a 
deserted road hasten to the rendezvous. A guide in 
waiting will conduct you within the rebel lines. By 
a bold dash, seize Washington and outride pursuit. 
I will furnish you the pass-word and countersign of 
the rebel camp and other necessary information later. 

Sidney. You must have powerful friends inside 
the lines to obtain this for you. 

Margaret. I have, indeed. If successful, will 
you give me due credit for the planning of this un- 
undertakino'V 



44 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Sidney. Can you doubt me? 

Enter Dick, c. d.. unobserved. 

Sidney. Would not gratitude alone, for this rep- 
aration of my fortunes, bind me as your slave, if you 
had not now chains more powerful? 

Dick, (comes down c) Major Wolfe! I wish to 
speak with my sister — alone. 

Sidney. Most certainly. Exit d. r. 

Dick. Margaret, I am surprised. Is it possible 
that you have so far forgotten yourself as to come 
here — alone. What mean these daily meetings with 
Major Wolfe? Do you forget that you are Harold 
Peyton's wife? Oh, sister, that it should come to 
this! 

Margaret. You silly boy, there is no harm in 
my coming here. You are to young to understand 
all you see. 

Dick. Perhaps I am ; but I can understand when 
a sister's honor calls for action, and I shall assert a 
brother's right. 

Margaret. You have no right to dictate to me, 
even though you are my brother. 

Dick. Then if not as your brother, I have ;s your 
husband's friend; for by heavens! I am Harry's 
friend and in his absence, I dare to act in his stead. 
If I may not defend my sister's honor, I may the 
honor of Harold Peyton's wife. I'll kill Major Sid- 
ney Wolfe. staffs toward d. r. 

Margaret, (detain* him) No. no, Dick — stay- 
listen to me — for (loci's sake, just a moment. You 
are mistaken. There is no guilt in my conduct with 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 45 

Major Wolfe. I have not compromised my husband's 

honor. 

Dick. Your anxiety for his safety betrays you. 
Let me go! 

Margaret. No. no! I came here on important 
business — a council of war. 

Dick. And do you think me fool enough to believe 
such idle tales as that? What great secret of state, 
do you, a woman, know"? 

Sidney, {outside) Lieutenant, you are prompt. 

Jack, {outside) I strive to do my duty, sir. 

Margaret. Major Wolfe is returning, and he 
shall explain all. You dare not betray us — you 
would disgrace the uniform you wear, and be a 
traitor to your king if you did. 

Re-enter Sidney and Jack. 

Margaret. Major Wolfe, my brother desires to 
share our secret. Perhaps, you can prevail upon 
him to join in the venture. 

Sidney. The names of Lieutenant Reynolds and 
Hussar Preseott are both upon my list of loyal sub- 
jects of King George III, whom I have chosen for 
this secret expedition. 

Margaret. And a successful termination means 
wealth and fame for us all. 

Jack. My dear madam, do not further excite our 
curiosity. What is the plan? 

Margaret. Lieutenant, are you willing and ready 
to strike a blow for your king? 

.Jack. Aye. now and forever! 



46 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Margaret. Then listen. After four years of 
warfare, maintained at an almost fabulous cost, ( Treat 
Britiari has accomplished very little, and the end is 
not yet in sight. Now. if by one single blow, with 
no cost, this war could be ended, think what it would 
mean to England and her king. This blow can and 
must be dealt by a mere handful of men, in one short 
night's work; but it takes courage, daring and skill. 

Jack. 'Tis folly to think of such a thing. 

Margaret. Xo. it is not folly. Look at the sit- 
uation. The American Congress quarrels and plots, 
disturbs it's own army and accomplishes nothing. 
The rebel army is famishing for food and raiment; 
mutiny and desertion are threatened every moment. 
Yet in spite oi discord in their own ranks — in spiti 1 
of the horrors of starvation duri r the bitter winter 
campaigns — in spite of the i Congress, the 

army and 1 »le ; ■ v at sword's points, the army 

is held together. What holds them together? Remove 
the cause and the conflict is ended. 

Dick Well, my pretty Demosthenes, what the 
cause — what the remedy? 

Margaret. The cause — Washington! Remove 
him from command of the Continental army, and the 
rebellion would fade away like mist before the morn- 
ing sun. He must be put out of the wav! 

Jack. What! Assassinate him! 

Sidney. Certainly not. Capture him and trans- 
port him. 

Jack. Capture him, indeed. Haven't the British 
army been trying to do the same thing for four years? 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 47 

Sidney. Not as my Lady Margaret has planned 
it, for while to me and the gallant men I have chosen 
as comrades has been delegated the honor of execu- 
tion, to Mrs. Peyton alone belongs the honor of cre- 
ation. Christmas eve, by a secluded path, I will lead 
a selected band of Hussars to the appointed rendez- 
vous. From there a friendly "rebel" will lead us to 
a point near the general's headquarters. Then by a 
swift dash through the lines, we will seize the com- 
mander-in-chief and outride all pursuit. 

Jack. It has been tried before and alwa}'S met an 
ignominious failure. 

Sidney. True; but they lacked the one advantage 
we possess — a confederate in their own camp. 

Dick, {to Margaret.) And you have obtained 
that through brother Ned — the contemptible scoun- 
drel. It is a strange role for Captain Peyton's wife; 
a, conspirator against her husband's commander. 

Margaret. No! Had I not a king, before Harold 
Peyton had a commander? 

Sidney. Be that as it may. There is much to be 
done, (sits at table — writes hurriedly) I will at once 
request General Clinton for permission to make the 
necessary detail, {gives papers to Dick) Report to 
General Clinton at once! Lieutenant! you may go. 
Exit Jack and Dick, c. d. 

Sidney, {to Margaket as she starts to go) A word 
first! Don't go till I have spoken it. A word did I 
sav! A thousand tremble on my tongue, but each 
and all bearing the same import. Margaret, I love 
vou. 



48 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Margaret. No, no! you must not speak so to me; 
not now. 

Sidney. Yes. now! Oh! my beloved, say that the 
rapture which floods my heart shall not be felt in 
vain. If our plans succeed, will you not requite me 
for the part I play? I know how poor, how unworthy 
I must seem; but grant me hope — the hope that you 
will one day bless my life; and I swear to devote that 
life to your happiness. 

Margaret. Sir! do you forget to whom you are 
speaking? that I am the wife of Captain Harold Pey- 
ton. 

Sidney. No, I do not forget. I know only too 
well. Oh, Margaret! cast off the chains that bind 
you to a man who never has and never can appreciate 
you as I would. He did not truly love you or he 
would not have broken your heart by enlisting in the 
rebel army against your wishes. 

Margaret. You have no right to pass judgment 
upon his actions — I have not the right to listen to 
your protestations; he is still my husband. 

Sidney. He is your soul's destroyer — I would be 
your rescuer now, your comforter in the future. 

Margaret. Say no more! I must go. {lie detains 
her) Let me pass! 

Sidney. Nay, Margaret, hear me. You are now 
wedded to a man who is indifferent to your worthand 
in urging you to shake off the shackles that drag you 
down. I will not acknowledge that I am doing any 
thing that deserves to be condemned. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 49 

Margaret. Tempt me not, I beg of you. Even 
though my husband has turned traitor to me, does 
not justify my turning traitor to myself. 

Sidney. Ah! you stili love him. 

Margaret. No! I hate him and shall until etern- 
ity. 

Sidney. Two years have passed since the news 
came of his death. Can you not give into my keep- 
ing the love which he trampled upon'? I swear to 
you, on my honor in this world and my hopes of the 
next, you shall never regret the step! 

Margaret. You know not what you say. A man 
offers his love to a woman and gives her a home; but 
his inclinations prompted b} r his own heart, bid him 
walk forth from that home to conquer fresh fields. 
You may think that you me now, and perhaps, for a 
few short years, so long as my youth shall last, you 
will care for me: but without beauty woman is noth- 
ing, and my youth will fade. My heart and intelli- 
gence will ripen; but only a true heart can value 
them. 

Sidney. Listen, Margaret, you are the only 
woman I have ever loved. You have cast the spell 
of your grace, your beauty and your intellect upon 
me so that I have no true existence, apart from your 
dear influence, and I ask — nay, implore you, that you 
will share the life that you have awakened. 

Margaret. Awakened! I! 

Sidney. You! Till I met you, that life was not— 
I was carried along in the current of passing events, 
but now — I live! If I succeed — give me your loving 



50 IN DAYS OF OLD. 
aid, your encouragement for life as you have in this 
venture, and I will be your slave; refuse me, and 

Margaret, {quickly) If I refuse you— 

Sidney. I shall become, Heaven alone knows 
what. Think of the great risk I am running for your 
sake. One false step, and I die an infamous death, 
the fate of a spy. Oh! my darling! you will not send 
me from .you! 

Margaret, {faintly) No, no, I cannot! 
Sidney. It is true, then — you love me, Mar- 
garet, {takes ring from his finger) This ring is an 
heirloom of our family and has been handed down 
from one generation to the next. And it has never 
yet been worn in dishonor. I place it upon your fin- 
ger as a sacred pledge of my affection, {places ring 
on her finger) May this circlet of gold without begin- 
ning or end, symbolize the purity of the love between 
us; and its endless duration, the immortality of the 
vows which unite us! Now, darling, let me hear your 
own sweet lips speak my fate. 

Margaret, (dreamingly) What would you have 
me sayV 

Sidney. Say; I love you. Sidney, I am yours now 
and forever. 

Margaret. I love you, Sidney. {in his arms. 

Enter Dick and Nelle, c. d. 

Margaret. I am yours, now and forever. (Sid- 
ney kisses her) 
Dick, {comes down) Margaret, go to your room! 
Margaret, (crosses fo Nklle) Oh, sister! 
Sidney. ( it. c. ) What right have vou to interfere? 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 51 

Dick. (l. c.) The right of any man to defend his 
sister's honor! 

Enter Jack, c. d. 

Sidney, (draws sword) You insolent puppy, you 
shall fight for this! 

Dick, (calmly) Fight with you, I cannot. You 
have betrayed a sacred hospitality— you are a dis- 
graced man! 



END OF ACT SECOND. 



ACT THREE. 

Scene: Boudoir of Margaret Prescott. Clock 
strikes seven as curtain rises. Margaret is dis- 
covered at u '.ndow. 

Margaret. They have just crossed the river 
— in four hours from now, they should be homeward 
bound, flushed with the success of their venture. 
{crosses to table, l. c.) How slowly the hours will 
drag along till their return, (sits at table) I wonder 
why Sidney did not come to bid me good-bye. I lid 
not expect Dick. P< 3r Dick — how he worries over 
that Mttle affair of a few night's ago. 

Enter Nelle, d. f. 

Nelle. Still in the dumps, Margaret; what is the 
matter with you? 

Margaret. Nothing — except that I am unhappy. 

Nelle. You have no cause for complaint. Hap- 
pily married as you were to one of the world's noble- 
men, you had the brightest of prospects in store for 
you; but for the sake of i foolish ^omantic fancy, you 
let him go to the war without a vovd >f farewell or 
even a wish for his safe return. I feel sorry for you 



54 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Margaret — and I pity Harold. His burden must be 
heavy, for if ever a man worshiped a woman, Harold 
Peyton worshiped you. 

Margaret. Harold Peyton never loved me, or he 
would never have defied me as he did. I hate even 
his memory. 

Nelle. Hush, sister, not one word of reproach. 
He was your husband and fell in defense of his coun- 
try's flag. Let his name remain sacred, (.sees ring) 
Margaret, where did you get that ring? 

Margaret, (embarrassed) You have no right to 
question me. You forget yourself! 

Nelle. No, I do not forget myself. I have seen 
that ring too often upon another's hand. I have the 
right to demand why my sister is wearing Major 
Wolfe's ring, without the consent or knowledge of 
her husband! 

Margaret. My husband! I have no husband. 
In a moment of folly I linked myself to one whom I 
thought I loved. Later on, he basely deserted me, 
and by his own action, has released me from every 
obligation. 

Xklle. He is still your husband, Margaret, and 
I am sure loves you as sincerely now as upon your 
marriage morn. Wedding vows are sacred, and no 
one has the right to violate them with impunity. 
Death aloue is the only divorce. 

Margaret. Then I am free. Two years ago, 
Harold Peyton was found dead upon the battlefield. 
My divorce is absolute. 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 55 

Nelle. The report of your husband's death was 
merely a rumor — but, whether living or dead, let the 
memory of his love and kindness keep you from all 
harm. Oh! why do you wear Sidney Wolfe's ring? 

Margaret. Simply because I choose to do so. 

Nelle. Sister, were the vows you made to me, 
only one week ago, all false: when you swore that you 
never loved this man".' 

Margaret. I know not what I said. My brain 
was afire, and in the excitement of the hour, thought 
only of his safety. 

Nelle. Margaret, you swore to me that you did 
not love Sidney Wolfe; that in the brief delirium of 
the passing moment, you had forgotten all else, save 
his protestations of love. 

Margaret. Then I lied. Hear me now, sister, 
declare once for all; that I do love Sidney Wolfe pas- 
sionately — with all the love which I am capable of 
bestowing. He is my heart's idol! my king of kings! 

Nelle. Oh, sister, have you fallen so low? Have 
you so little respect for your own womanhood, so lit- 
tle regard for your family, so little love for your 
husband? 

Margaret. Every woman has the right to obey 
her heart's commands: her life is her own, whether 
it be for weal or woe. 

Nelle. This can continue no longer. I shall tell 
brother Dick at once. 

Margaret. No, no, you must not! He will pro- 
voke a duel and pay his life as the penalty. Sidney 
is too far his superior in the art of war. 



56 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Nelle. Then with his own blood he will wash out 
this stain upon the Prescott name. Better he die in 
defense of our family's honor, than live at the price 
of a sister's shame! Exit D. f. 

Margaret. Under his influence, the brief delir- 
ium of the past fades into oblivion, for I now know I 
never loved before. If I go with him, the sin is not 
his, but mine — mine alone. The temptation well-nigh 
overpowers me. On one hand, I see a life of love, 
peace and happiness — a life with him whom I love; 
on the other hand, a bitter explanation, and then— 
the inevitable parting*. Before me lie two paths: one 
leading- to an existence amid the g - ayeties of London 
society; the other to the unbearable misery which 
now surrounds me. O, Heaven, forgive me, 1 — I 
cannot lose him. Send me poverty, disgrace, the 
hard world's scorn, but leave me my love — oh! leave 
me my love! 

Enter Harold, window in flat. 

Harold, (arms outstretched) Margaret! 

Margaret. Ah! (shrinks from him) You her e! 

Harold. Yes, 'tis I, Harold, your husband! (he 
starts towards her— she steps back) Don't be frightened. 

Margaret. They told me that you were killed at 
Saratoga. I thought you dead. 

Harold. And you seem disappointed because the 
report proved false. 

Margaret. No, no! but why did you come here, 
tonight. 

Harold. Because 1 loved you so dearly, that I 
could no long-er stav away. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 57 

Margaret. Do you not know that your life is in 
danger; that you are in the very heart of the British 
forces? 

Harold. Yes. If caught, they would hang me 
as a spy. For the first time since we parted, nearly 
five years ago. have J Ween near enough to come to 
you. Knowing full well that my presence here was 
most unwelcome to you. but hoping against hope that 
your heart had softened toward your husband, I 
came. My great love for you mastered me and in 
spite of the peril I passed through the British lines, 
asking only for a glance of your sweet face, and a 
word from your lips, e'en though it be buta whisper. 
My advances you have flung aside; but I can again 
do my duty, happy in the memory of this stolen visit 
to you. {goes to her — she steps back) Why do you shrink 
from me. are you angry because I am here? 

Margaret. 'Tis live years, you say. since you 
left — you are almost a stranger. 

Harold. Yes. 'tis five years! To me they have 
seemed ages, filled as they have been with privation 
in the cam])- hunger on the march — peril in the field: 
yet in my heart was graven the image of the wife I 
had left at home, and day or night, sleeping or wak- 
ing, the thought of you was uppermost in my mem- 
ory. The day I fell wounded — I went down with 
your name on my lips, and a prayer for your safety. 
Only an hour ago. when I dashed through the British 
lines amid a fusilade of leaden hail, I murmured your 
name and fancied it was the talisiiian that kept me 
from harm. Oh, my darling, do you mean what you 



58 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

say? Am I a stranger in my own house? If you had 
ever loved me. all the old affections would rush back- 
like the pent-up torrents of years, and a moment's 
presence would bridge the gulf between us, no mat- 
ter how deep or how wide it had become. But still 
you say that I am a stranger — and greet me with a 
haughty coldness. What does my visit interfere 
with: Were you expecting company: or hearing of 
my death, have you so soon found another suitor to' 
iill my place in your heart. In mercy's name, Mar- 
garet, tell me 'tis not true! Tell me that my fears 
are groundless; that you are still my own darling 
Margaret. Tell me that the camp gossips lie! 

Margaret. And what do they say? 

Harold. They say that Major Sidney Wolfe has 
his headquarters beneath this roof, and that Mar- 
garet Peyton has so far forgotten her sense of honor 
as a wife, as to openly receive his attentions in spite 
of the fact that they are the talk of all New York! 
Tell me they lie, Margaret, for I can't believe you 
faithless. Tell me. as you have in the days of old. "I 
love you, Harold, I am yours, now and forever." 

Margaret reels and nearly falls — supports herself 
iritli hand on table. Harold starts toward her. 

Harold. You are faint! 

Margaret. No, no, don't touch me! 

Harold, (sees ring — staggers back) Margaret, 
where did you get that ring? 

Margaret. Ah4 (hiding ring) No matter. 'Tis 
onlv the grift of a friend. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 59 

Harold. A friend, eh! Then the camp gossips 
speak the truth, and he makes you presents. And 
only yesterday. Heaven forgive me, I nearly stran- 
gled one of my best friends, because he came and in- 
formed me what the scandalmongers were saying. 
[(/rasps her hand) Let me look at it! 

Margaret. No, no, you must not! you must not! 

Harold. My God! it is true! it is true! I did not 
think you capable of that. You — a Prescott; and— 
my wife: accept a ring from your husband's worst 
foe. They speak truly, when they say you love this 
man. He is your lover! You, his paramour! 

Margaret. Harold Peyton, you lie! 

Harold. No. I speak the truth. You dare not 
deny it — you that stand there with eyes that drop 
before mine for shame — nay. eyes that you raise with 
defiance. Brazen — brazen — oh! my God, my God. 
tell me that I am mistaken, that you are still true to 
your wedding vows, i /must i You are silent. Tell me 
that you are still my own dear Margaret. 

Margaret. No, no, let me alone! 

Harold. 'Tis now plain why I am so unwelcome. 
He is to be here, tonight. Well, the Wolfe may come, 
but he'll find the faithful watch-dog on guard at the 
wife's door. Although I can weep at my wife's per- 
fidy. I shall no longer endure this shame. 'Tis well 
I came tonight. 

Margaret. You will watch in vain. He is more 
likely to be found where you came from than here. 

Harold. I came from Morristown; what does he 
there? (pause) Speak! what do you mean".' 



60 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

Margaret. Nothing! I spoke without thinking-. 

Harold. Then you spoke the truth. So, Major 
Wolfe, a British officer, may be found in our camp, 
tonight. Your lover, a spy in your husband's camp, 
as well as a traitor in your husband's house. 

Margaret. No, no! 

Harold. Perhaps another secret expedition and 
midnight attack. I must warn the cam]). 

Margaret. It is too late now. 

Harold. Our army is always on the alert for 
such surprises, and needs no warning from me. We 
have had many of them, and if there is such an ex- 
pedition on foot tonight; so much the worse for those 
engaged in it. 

Margaret. Major Wolfe's men are well on their 
way to Morristown; even if you do pass safely 
through the British lines, you will only meet them 
returning with your commander-in-chief. 

Harold. Another attempt to seize Washington? 
What folly! 

Margaret. Folly! Not when aided by traitors 
in your own camp! 

Harold. What! traitors in our camp'? Pshaw! 
what should you, a woman, know of such affairs. Oh! 
Margaret, could I only awaken the old love! 'Tis a 
pity that I must leave you when matters are so wrong 
between us: when I would give ten years of my life 
for an hour in which to win back your love. But I 
forget — treason in our camp, you say. There is dan- 
ger then — there is always a possibility. Wont you 
take my hand? (pause) O, Margaret, let me clasp 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 61 

you in my arms once more. Think how I have loved 
you and for the sake of olden times, bestow upon me 
one kiss — then 1 must go! 

Margaret. Go! Where? 

Harold Back to camp, to warn the troops of 
this expedition. 

Margaret. 'T is hours since they left. Even if 
you should overtake them, do you think they would 
permit you to pass? 

Harold. Perhaps I might beat Major Wolfe in 
this as he has beaten me — elsewhere. Perchance I 
know the Jersey roads, better than I have known my 
wife's heart. I'll put the army on the alert, treason 
or no treason. 

Margaret, (clings to him) You shall not go! 

Harold, {struggling) Release me! 

Margaret. A moment ago, you asked for time to 
win back my love. Take the time now; you may not 
find the task as hard as you may think. I have 
never ceased to love you from the depths of my 
heart. 

Harold. Would to Heaven that I could believe 
you; but 'tis only a plea to keep me here — to keep me 
from my duty. 1 dare not; will not stay! I must 
go! 

Margaret. No, no! I love you, my husband! 

Harold. If you love me, you will not detain me! 

Margaret. If you love me, you will remain! 

Harold. Not one moment. Time is precious 
now. Do not tempt me. I will soon return. 



62 /A 7 DA YS OF OLD. 

Margaret. If you go now, you shall never see 
me again. You are breaking my arm. 

Harold. And you are breaking my heart. Let 
me go! 

Margaret. You will have to kill me first! You 
shall not spoil my scheme. 

Harold. Yours! 

Margaret. Yes, mine! Mine against your com- 
mander; against your cause — your cause that I hate, 
because it has ruined my hopes forever. 

Harold. Margaret! 

Margaret. Were you fool enough to think that 
because I was wedded to you. it would keep me from 
fighting your cursed cause. I became your wife, not 
because I loved you: but that I might go to London. 
Failing in that — I was yours no longer. I hate you! 

Harold. God pity me. A moment ago you pro- 
fessed to love me. ■ 

Margaret. Aye, to save him! 

Harold. You confess your guilty lover Why 
does not a just God strike you down? 

MARGARET. Love him! yes. with all my heart and 
soul, and you shall not spoil his work and mine — you 
must kill me first! By heavens. I'll call the patrol! 

Harold. Would you deliver me to the enemy? 

Margaret. For his sake, yes! (hi catches her— 
they struggle) Help! Help! 

Harold, [forcing her to her knees) Silence! you 
fiend, or I'll kill you. 

Marga*RET. Strike me, if you dare! 

Harold, (overcome) I cannot, I cannot. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 63 

Margaret, (at window) Surround this house! 
A rebel spy is here. (Harold starts toward her) 
Statu! hack! They struggle. 

Harold, [flinging her aside) Gcd pity you! 

Exit Harold through window. 

Voice, (outside) Halt! (shot outside) 

Margaret at window— screams— falls. 

END of act third. 



ACT FOUR. 

Scene: Parlor in the Prescott home. Matthias 
enters l. U. e.. rise of curtain — goes to fireplace— 
replenishes Ihe fire — clean* off the heart!). 

, Matthias. Strange things happened around this 
house, last night, and I fear it bodes no good to any- 
one beneath this roof. About nine o'clock, I was sit- 
ting in my accustomed place in the hallway, waiting 
for Mr. Prescott to come from the office, when all at 
once I was startled to hear the sound of voices, com- 
ing as it were, from Margaret's room. It was her 
voice I am sure, and I would swear that the other 
was her husband's. I know that no one had entered 
the house since twilight. First, I could hear her 
voice in angry expostulation: then his. first entreat- 
ing, then threatening. 1 could not hear what was 
said. All at once the entire house was jarred as if 
some one had fallen heavily— then a shot was tired — a 
cry of anguish rang out from the room above: then 
all was silent as the grave. I hastened to the door 
and peered out into the darkness — not a sound could 
I hear. Then J went up to her room but all was 
shrouded in darkness. I questioned her this morn- 



66 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

ing, but she only laughed at me and said that I had 
only had a naughty dream. I would stake my life on 
it that I was wide awake, and that it is an omen of 
impending evil, (looks off L.) Here comes the devil 
now. 

Enter Sidney, l. u. e. 

Sidney. Matthias, is Mr. Prescott at home? 

Matthias. He is, sir. 

Sidney. Kindly tell him that I am the bearer of 
sad news and wish to speak to him at once. 

Matthias, {aside) I knew it, I knew it. (aloud) 
I will inform him that you are waiting. Be seated, 
sir. Exit R. 2. E. 

Sidney. Thank heaven! everything has worked 
like a charm. Riding in full retreat, I had an excel- 
lent opportunity to repay Master Dick's insolence 
with a dose of lead. No one suspects that I myself 
tired the fatal shot. Of course, he was wounded as 
we entered the ambuscade. He knew entirely too 
much for my comfort — poor fellow! 

Enter Stephen, r. 2. e. 

Stephen. Matthias tells me that you nave sad 
tidings for me. Be pleased to make this interview 
brief. 

Sidney As brief as friendship. Your son, as 
you know, was a member of my staff. Last night, 
he accompanied a select number of my command on 
a secret expedition, and while on our way we fell in- 
to a rebel ambuscade. So sudden was the attack, 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 67 

that it forced a hasty retreat. Among others, your 1 
son fell wounded, I fear fatally; at least, our surgeon 
has but slight hopes of his recovery. He is now in 
our hospital, where I have made every arrangement 
for his comfort. 

Stephen, {offering his hand) I thank you. I will 
hasten to his side and see what can he done. Oh, 
Richard, my poor boy, must I lose you, too. {Exit R. 

Sidney. Well, old man, I am afraid you will be a 
little too late. Ha! ha! ha! The old man's burden is 
indeed a heavy one. A patriot sympathizer at heart, 
whose family are loyalists — except his eldest son, 
who is a disgrace to the mother that bore him. And 
now, his favorite son lies dead. It nearly broke his 
father's heart when he enlisted under the banner of 
King George. Ah, well, such is life. But, now to 
see Margaret. It is imperative that I leave for Lon- 
don at once and if possible I shall go tonight. But 
not without her. 

Enter Margaret, doirn stairway. 

Sidney. Ah, Margaret! I have returned, {takes 
fur hands. ) 

Margaret. And I need not ask you; you have 
failed. 

Sidney. Yes, we had not yet arrived at the ap- 
pointed rendezvous, when from both sides of the 
road, a heavy fire was poured into our little band of 
troopers, and we were compelled to fly for our lives. 

Margaret. I am sure you did the very best you 
could. 



68 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Sidney. They must have been warned of our 
coming and were lying in wait for us. They nearly 
surrounded us. Ninp of our men were killed out 
right and three more seriously wounded, one of them 
your brother. 

Margaret. Poor Dick! where is he? 

Sidney. At the hospital, where. every care is be- 
ing bestowed on him. Your father is bvthis time at 
his side. A little later in the day, I will take you to 
him. 

Margaret. You are very kind to me, Sidney. 

Sidney. It is probably the last favor that I may 
grant. I leave by tonight's ship for London. 

Margaret. Tonight! So soon. Why not wait 
until we hear from Ned, and try once more. The 
next time we must succeed. 

Sidney. To remain is out of the question. I have 
received a six months leave of absence and must go 
to England at once. Margaret, last night I failed to 
accomplish that which would have gained for us both 
g-reat honors; but my love is as deep and as loyal as 
before. You have pledged me your love — come with 
me, tonight, and leave this cursed country for one 
where you can command the respect you deserve. 
You shall be my cpueen : I your abject slave, and to- 
gether amid the frivolty of gay old London; we shall 
forget all the hated past. You will go, Margaret? 

Margaret. Oh! I cannot. I cannot. 

Sidney. Then you prefer a life of misery among 
these familiar scenes, every one of which brings to 
your mind the saddest recollections of the past; to a 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 69 

life unalloyed content in a land where you will know 
naught save happiness. 

Margaret. No, no, it is not that. Here I am 
unhappy it is true, but I am free from want. Should 
I go with you, you might soon tire of me, as a child 
of a new plaything, and then cast me adrift in a 
strange land, to be dashed to and fro by the cruel 
billows of adversity and at last be hurled upon the 
rocks of destruction. 

Sidney. Margaret, come here! My love, so long 
as life shall last. I shall know nothing but the deep- 
est devotion for you. Time alone can prove the sin- 
cerity of my love. Can't you trust me, my darling? 

Margaret. Oh, Sidney, I do, I do! (throwing 
her (inns (/round hint) If I cannot trust you, whom in 
all this world can I trusty 

Sidney. As true as there is a heaven above us, 
you can trust me, and that trust I will never betray. 
Do you remember your promise — the night I gave 
you the ring? 

Margaret. Yes. I love you, Sidney, I am yours 
now and forever. 

Sidney And if the man you loved — If I — should 
come to be mean and unworthy before the world— 

M a RGAR ET. But you are not. 

Sidney. If I were? 

Margaret. My king! 

Sidney. If you saw me sneered at, even hunted 
as a criminal: but still loving, worshiping - 

Margaret. T would love you still — with tb.3 love 
that is the all — that is greater than the world. Love 



70 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

that is above honors, above name— that outlasts them 
all. When I loved you, your fate became mine. Sid- 
ney, you will always love me. wont you? 

Sidney. Yes. Margaret, 1 will. I must go to 
headquarters and procure my passports. My dar- 
ling, make what preparations are necessary and we 
will go together, You will be ready when I return? 

Margaret. Yes! 

Sidney. Until then, Au Revoir. Exit L. u. e. 

Margaret. The die is cast. Right or wrong, I 
have chosen and it is too late to turn back. Only a 
few short hours and I will forever place myself be- 
yond the hope of returning. Come what may, 
my life could not be more miserable than it has been. 
Henceforth my duty shall be to forget all else save 
the love I owe my British Major. I will prepare for 
his return. < '/'osses to stairway. 

/utter Ned, r. 2. e., his head bandaged. 

Margaret, (startled) Ned! you here? 

Ned Yes, I am here! Look at me. No doubt, 
you are delighted to see your dear brother? 

Margaret. Of course 1 am always glad to see 
you, Ned. 

Ned. You are a fine specimen of the loving sister, 
you are! But I'll have my revenge. I came here on 
purpose to expose, your true character, you brazen 
hussy! You didn't think I'd live to tell the tale, did 
you? 

Margaret. Are vou speaking- to me, sir? 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 71 

Ned. Yes, I'm speaking- to you. You thought if 
your husband would have me hanged, he would win 
promotion for himself. 

Margaret. That's a lie! 

Ned. A lie, is it? Dare you deny that your hus- 
band came to visit you last night and that you ex- 
posed your hellish plot to him? Do you think you 
can make your British sweetheart, Sidney Wolfe, be- 
lieve it is a lie, when he learns that you sent him on 
this secret mission, that you might betray him to 
your husband and that 'twas through your perfidy, 
that your own brother was fatally wounded. 

Margaret. I don't deny that Harold was here. 
Taking me by surprise, he found cause to suspect 
our plot, but it was through no fault of mine. That's 
tlif truth, and we shall see whether Major Wolfe be- 
lieves yo.i or me. 

Ned. You may be able to convince Sidney Wolfe, 
that you acted in good faith toward him, but 1 doubt 
if you can lead father to believe you innocent — I am 
going to tell him all. 

Margaret. You will not dare! 
Ned. Dare! Wont I! 

Margaret. No! Do you forget what you are: a 
fugitive from justice, even now on parole during good 
behavior: think you, that when he learns that you 
were ready and willing— for a few paltry dollars, to 
deliver to the enemy the safety of the camp, in which 
his whole being is centred: that he will hesitate to 
turn you over for the punishment such traitors de- 
serve. 



72 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

Ned. And do you think that when he learns of the 
perfidy of his favorite daughter — learns that she is 
the mistress of a British officer — that he will hesi- 
tate to drive her from beneath his roof in disgrace. 
You have masqueraded long enough under the cloak 
of your husband's untarnished name — Harold Pres- 
cott is a Continental soldier and a gentleman, and I 
am going to tear oft" the mask of deceit and show you 
in your true light. 

Margaret, (crosses to him) Dare to utter one 
word against me to my father and I'll fasten my fin- 
gers around your traitorous throat and still its cruel 
work forever. 

Enter Stephen, l. u. e. 

Stpehen. (comes down) Daughter! What would 
you do? 

Margaret. Silence the lying accusations of this 
wretch, who seeks to destroy a sister's honor. 

Stephen. i.^xNedi So it is you, sir! Why are 
you not in camp? 

Ned. Because I am here to tear off the mask of 
deceit and dishonor worn by that woman, and expose 
the baseness of her true character. 

STEPHEN. What do you mean, sir! 

Ned. 'That since this war began, her conduct has 
been a living lie While posing as a patriot's daugh- 
ter — and under the protection of your roof — she has 
been in league with the British army for the betrayal 
of vour cause. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 73 

Stephen. Impossible, sir; my own flesh and blood 
could not be so devoid of honor as to plot against the 
cause I hold as sacred. 

NED. It is true, nevertheless; and the plot was 
hatched beneath this roof. If )-ou do not believe me, 
ask her wnat she knows of last night's cursed work. 

Stephen. Margaret, what do you know of this 
British plot? (pause) Answer me! 

Margaret. J dare not — it is not my secret alone. 

STEPHEN. If there is a secret beneath my roof I 
have a rigut to know it and I command you to speak. 

Margaret. You command! 

Stephen. Aye, command! 

MARGARET. And I refuse. You forget, sir, I am 
no longer subject to a father's commands, [starts for 
stair way) 

Stephen. Y'ou shail not i^ave this room, (detains 
her) When Harold left this house, four years ago, to 
battle for his country's liberty, he placed you in my 
keeping, until he should return. 'Tis time that I 
assume that guardianship over you. when I find that 
you have brought dishonor and disgrace upon his 
name by plotting against the cause he loves. 

Margaret Allegiance to my king is my right. 

STEPHEN. If allegiance to the king means treason 
to your husband, you have no right beneath Harold 
Peyton's roof. By heavens. I will know the truth. 

Margaret. Never from me. 

Stephen, (to Ned) What have you to say, sir? 



74 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Ned. Only this; that she and Major Sidney Wolfe 
entered into a conspiracy to kidnap Washington, and 
that the attempt was made last night. 

Margaret. Tell him also, that you were the 
traitor who, Judas-like, was to betray the safety of 
the camp. 

Stephen. Can this be truer' Leave lhis house at 
once, you treacherous scoundrel! 

Ned. Call me hard names if you will. You have 
never been the father to me that you should have 
been. If you had tempered your justice with irercv 
and gave me a kind word now and then, 1 might have 
had a different career. I erred, it is true: but you 
drove me from home, and what am I; a depised fugi- 
tive, with the prison walls staring me in the face. 
You made me what I am. Are you not proud of it? 
{pushes back hat, showing wound on temple) Do you 
see that? That's a present from my dearly beloved 
brother-in-law, Harold Peyton. Y T ou see, he came 
here last night to visit his devoted wife and from her 
learned all. He outrode the British, found me wait- 
ing at the rendezvous, presented me with this saber- 
cut, and gave the alarm. 1 leave it to \ou, sir, if 
your daughter there, after playing the traitor to her 

husband, for the sake of her lover 

Enter ELIZABETH, It. 2. E. 

Stephen. For the sake of her lover? What do 
you mean by that? 

Ned. Don't you understand English, sir? 

Margaret. It's a lie; a cruel malicious lie. Sid- 
nev Wolfe is a gentleman, you insolent wretch! 



IX DAYS OF OLD. 75 

Ned. Any knave is a gentleman to his mistress. 

Elizabeth. Stephen, this is an outrage. Will 
you permit such insulting remarks made about your 
daughter? 

Margaret. Father, you surely will not heed the 
malicious lies of such a cur. He even accuses me of 
betraying the expedition to my husband. 

Ned. Harold was here last night, for he told me 
so. and that she exposed the entire plot to him; but 
that proves nothing. Women do strange things. A 
streak of repentance, maybe, or a lover's quarrel. 
{to Margaret) You would not have entered into a 
scheme like that with a man like him. unless you had 
a pretty close understanding of another kind. Oh, 
I know your whole damn sex. 

Elizabeth. Stephen, this is scandalous. 

Stephen crosses to l. u. e. — open* door — xteps back. 

Stephen, (to Ned) There is the door. Go! and 
never again dare you to darken it with your evil self. 

Ned crosses slowly to door \pauses, then exits. Stephen 
clases the- door and come* down stage, slowly. 

Stephen, {grasping Margaret) Tell me the 
truth. Are you guilty of this shame? Oh! God. that 
a child of mine should so far forget her honor as to 
commit such treason. Speak! I say, or I'll choke the 
life out of you. 

Margaret, {kneeling) Mercy, mercy! 

Stephen. What mercy do you deserve! You in- 
human wretch, a traitor to your husband and the laud 
of your birth — the mistress of a British officer! 



76 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

Margaret. No. no, father, not that, not that! 

Stephen. Aye, all of that! 

Enter Matthias l. u. e., with message, which he ha mis 
Stephen, and then exits. Stephen reads message 
—crumples it in his hand — staggers. 

Margaret, [goes to him) Father, you are ill! 

STEPHEN, [recovering) Don't touch me. Not eon- 
tent with bringing this disgrace upon your family, 
you sacrifice your brother upon the altar of your 
base desires — you murderess! 

Margaret. No. no! 

Elizabeth. Murderess! Father, are you mad? 

Stephen. No! Our dearly loved Dick, who in 
his devotion to his mother, enlisted under the banner 
of her choice, was by that fiend sent upon last night's 
cursed expedition, and now lies cold in death. 

Elizabeth. My boy! not dead! not dead! 

STEPHEN. Aye, dead, and the cause lays at our 
daughter's door. 

Margaret. Don't, father, don't! 

Stephen. Don't call me thy father— for you are 
no daughter of mine! I have no daughter now. You 
are a thing I will not name — a fiend, with the brand 
of Cain upon your brow. Out of my house — I dis- 
own you. Go! I say. Go! 

Margaret, [kneeling) Mercy! mercy! 

Stephein. You can expect no mercy from me. 
Seek your British lover, you hussy, and tell him to 
care for vou. Out of my house, I sav! 



IN DA YS OF 01.1). 77 

Eliza BETH. Stephen, do not send her away. Re- 
member, she is your favorite. Poor child, what will 
become of her. For my sake, father, let her remain. 
Harold would n't east her aside, guilty though she 
may he. 

Margaret. Oh! mother, mother! 

Stpehen. She must go, madam, and you shall 
not interfere. 'Tis for me to command. Stand 
aside, she is no child of ours. 

Elizabeth. No matter how guilty she may be, 
Stephen, she is still my child! (chimes ring) Father, 
do you forget the day, Christmas day. Even now 
the chimes are pealing forth '"Peace on earth. Good- 
will to all men. ,- Today is not the time for sorrow 
<>:• curses: but for happiness and peace. 

Stephen. There is the door; go! Never again 
let me behold thy face. 

Margaret, [pleading) Father! 

Stephen. Go! [Exit Margaret, l. it. e.) My 
deepest curses follow thee, wherever thou goest. 
Out of my sight forevermore. (closes door) Oh, 
God! my burden is greater than I can bear. My 
eldest son, n criminal— my youngest, dead; and my 
favorite daughter, dishonored. Reels and falls. 

END OF FOURTH ACT. 



ACT FIVE. 
Scene: Fashionable Lodgings in London. As cur- 
tain rises Margaret is discovered seated on divan 
R. She shows evidence of suffering. 

Margaret. Another dreary day has passed; 
every hour of which has seemed an age. Miserable 
as I thought myself in the days gone by, I now re- 
alize that they were only made so by my own wild 
desires for a life of pomp and show. Child that I 
was, I thought the dross of society was a metal of 
purest alloy. But I have learned the bitter truth, 
"all that glitters is not gold." The bread of repen- 
tance, we sometimes are forced to eat in maturer 
years, is made from the wild oats sown in earlier life. 

Enter Nelle. l. 2. e. 

Nelle. Margaret, it is nearly time for the ball, 
and you are not ready. 

Margaret. I have changed my mind; I am not 
going. 

Nelle. Not going! Why not? 

Margaket. Because I could not endure such a 
scene of gavety. I am a miserable wretched woman. 



80 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

Nelle. Wretched! You have no right to be. You 
should be supremely happy in the conquests you 
have made during the past six months. 

Margaket. Perhaps I should be; but I am not. 
Driven by despair, I plunged recklessly into the Jif'e 
of a social butterfly ; "but in the very moments of my 
triumph, the past like a grim spectre confronts me, 
and I am no longer able to hide my misery. Lady- 
hood is only a veneer. Under it are all the passions 
of womanhood: the love that can be betrayed, the 
hate that can plan and the fury that can execute re- 
venge. 

Nelle. Poor sister. Cheer up and all will end 
right yet — get ready and accompany us to the Em- 
bassy ball to-night. 

Margaret All my life, like a bird, I have been 
beating my wings against the bars of a gilded cage. 
I have sinned enough. I will sin no more. 

Nelle. Sinned, Margaret! 

Margaret. Yes, my life is a daily lie; striving 
to prove to the world that I am a happy, joyous 
woman, when I am suffering the keenest misery for 
my perfidy to my husband. 1 am not going to live 
so, longer. What is a woman without the man she 
loves? I am going to seek Harold, and when I find 
him, I will cast myself at his feet and implore his 
forgiveness. 

Nelle. You love him, Margaret, as in days of 
old. 

Margaret. I w T as in love; I have not forgotten. 
jOne tires of an empty life; of a vain stretching forth 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 81 

of hands. Tomorrow I shall make arrangements to 
leave London forever, and I pray that in dear old 
America, we may meet again, never more to part. 

Nelle. Perhaps he will not grant the forgive- 
ness you crave. 

Margaret. Whether he will or not, it is my dut y 
to go to him and ask pardon for the past. Is it not 
written "those whom He hath joined together, let 
no man divide." I acknowledge the infinity of a 
Wisdom beyond the power of poor humanity to dem- 
and with the aid of a Providence, that never deserts 
you in your hour of need. I will seek for my husband 
-praying trustfully for the pardon accorded when 
truly sought (looking upward) and for a home here- 
after. 

Nelle. You are a noble woman, Margaret, and 
dt serve much happiness in return for the misery 
you have endured in the past. A man's friendship 
may reach far into one's nature: but. it has been 
willed, greater is the love between man and woman, 
and the greatest of all is the love of a good woman 
for a, man. 

Margaret. Hut I am not a good woman — in my 
weakness I have sinned, but I have repented that 
sin. I have read somewhere that "adversity is the 
emery wheel of the soul. '"and surely all traces of my 
sin have been effaced by my sufferings. 

Nelle. There are brighter days in store for you 
so cheer up. Forget your sorrows for the present, 
and go to the ball with Jack and I. 

Enter John, r. 2. k. 



82 IN PAYS OF OLD. 

John, (announcing) Mr. John Q. Reynolds. 
Nelle. Bid him enter. Exit John, r. 2. e. 

Margaret. I will go to my room: I am in no 
mood to see visitors; not even dear old Jack. 

Enter Jack, r. 2. u., as Margaret is leaving, l. 

Jack. Ah, Mrs. Peyton, don't let me drive you 
away. 

Margaret. You are not driving me away. I 
would be delighted to remain, but I am ill tonight, 
and am better alone. Exit L. 2. E. 

Nelle. Jack, dear; do you know what ails Mar- 
garet'? 

Jack. No. Mow should I know? 

Nelle. You don't know anything. 

Jack. Do you? 

Nelle. I know this much. Margaret is slowly 
grieving her life away. The news of her father's 
1 ragic death, was a terrible shock to her. And, at 
last, she realizes how good and true Harold was: and 
her love for him has mastered all else. Her only de- 
sire is to find him and beg his forgiveness. She vvill 
leave for America tomorrow. 

Jack. Tomorrow! Let us go with her. I am 
tired of this English, society anyway. Let's go home, 
get married, settle down and raise— 

Nelle. Ah, ah! 

Jack. Lots of pretty flowers, and so forth. 

Nelle. Oh, I don't want to get married. 

Jack. Why not: 

Nelle. It's nothing" but a life of misery. 



IN DA YS OF OLD. 83 

Jack. Don't you think that marriage ever brings 
happiness? 

Nelle. To a man. perhaps; to a woman, never. 

JACK. Every woman lias but one faithful attach- 
ment in life —love. 

Nelle. True. 

Jack. Yes. love— with herself. 

NELLE. That's unkind. You always said you 
loved me dearly— truly. 

Jack. I do. In spite of our long separation, I 
love you more and more, each day. Absence makes 
the heart grow fonder. 

Nelle. Yes — of some one else! When did you 
first Jove me! 

Jack, (.solemnlt/) If — if I tell you. you will never 
tell anyone"? 

Nelle. Never — never. 

Jack. Then — I — don't know. 

Nelle. You don't know? 

Jack. No. I really don't. Love at first sight is a 
curious thing: one that a person can't describe, you 
know. The fact is, a pretty girl with dreamy blue 
eyes can teach a man anything else in the world, but 
common sense. 

NELLE. I don't believe in love at first sight — I 
believe in taking the second look. Say. Jack, do you 
believe that marriages are made in Heaven? 

Jack. Not by men who experimented on earth. 

Nelle. If you think so; why are you so anxious 
to marry. Tne ancient Greeks claimed that love and 
(jeath were sisters, and that, he or she who loves 



84 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

deeply, may in one short life-time suffer the agonies 
of death many times. And my own sister's misery 
has proven their theory true. 

Jack. Margaret's life has indeed been a sorrow- 
ful one. Still there are many happy marriages. It 
is the command of Holy Writ that man shall not live 
alone. 

Nelle. • How should I look if I married you? 

Jack. Charming, I am sure. 

Nelle. Well, 111 give you my promise. The day 
Harold and Margaret are reconciled, shall be our 
wedding day. Now ain't you happy? 

Jack, (dejected) Oh, yes: but I was wondering if 
that will ever be. My dear 

Nelle. Don't call me "my dear" — call me sweet- 
heart. A husband always calls his wife "my dear," 
when there is company present, (sighs) 

J uk. What's the matter? 

Nelle. I was just thinking of the great chances 
a girl takes on her first proposal of marriage. 

Jack. Do you mean if she accepts or declines it? 

Nelle. Either way. 

Jack. Oh! (pause) Say, I was awful afraid to 
ask you for the first kiss. 

Nelle. Afraid of what 

Jack. Afraid you would let me have it without 
protest. But, Nelle. in spite of all. you are a dear, 
dear girl. 

NELLE. Well, I hope you do think so. Jack dear, 
it would be hard to know that you didn't, when w<- 
have grown up together. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 85 

Enter John, r. 2. e. 

John. The carriage is at the door. Exit R. 2. e. 

Nelle. Let us go at once. I do so dread < eing 
among the late arrivals, {crosses to door, L. 2. E.) 
Margaret! We are going, dear. 

Margaret, {entering) I hope both of you will 
have a pleasant evening. Take care of her, Jack, 
and don't let her catch cold, (kisses Nelle) Good 
night, sister: good night. Jack. 

Jack and Nelle. Good night! Exeunt R. 2. e. 

Margaret. Flow I wish they had remained at 
home, tonight, {crosses and lochs door, R. 2. e.) My 
nerves and brain feel strangely overwrought. A few 
moments ago I fancied I saw a face looking in at my 
window — the face of the fiend who lured me from my 
home and husband — the face of the man for whose 
sake 1 became the miserable w,;etch that I am — the 
cruel smiling face of Sidney Wolfe. I thought that 
I had forever rid myself of his presence — but he is 
my Nemesis. As soon as I had sufficiently recovered 
from the shock, I rushed to the window and flung it 
open — no one was there. 1 feel a foreboding of im- 
pending evil. This room is stifling. I must have air. 

Margaret crosses to l. 2. e., and throws back the cur- 
tain*. As she does so. she utters a scream and staggers 
back. Enter Sidney, hurriedly. 

Margaret. Ah! you here. 

Sidney. At last. Margaret, at last! For weeks I 
have been searching for you; peering into every face 
on the streets — craving to see your beautiful image. 



86 IX DAYS OF OLD. 

Margaret. Why are you here? What do you ex- 
pect from me"? 

Sidney. What should I expect from one who has 
turned the heads of all fashionable London — the gay 
butterfly that has fiittea hither and thither among 
her many admirers, leaving nothing but heartaches 
in her path: yet in whose presence all other queens 
of society fade into oblivion: and the king himself is 
humbled. Still I, like a foolish moth, cannot help 
circling around the flame which inevitably means my 
destruction. 

Margaret, (aside) He loves me still! 

Sidney. I am here, Margaret, to keep my promise 
and claim my reward. 

Margaret. Keep your promise? What is your 
word worth, Sidney Wolfe? You were once, to me, 
an idol on a pinnacle; you are now a broken image in 
the dust. You have no claim upon me. 

Sidney. But, Margaret. I cannot spare you I 
love you. 

Margaret. Love me — you love me? You love 
yourself, you mean; your ease, your comfort, your 
pleasures! Love me! Recall the falsehood, Sidney 
Wolfe, 'tis deeds we women want, not words! 

Sidney. Do you not believe me? 

Margaret. No, not one word. Since the night 
that my father cast me out of his house, I have 
learned many bitter truths. Among them, that mei) 
will lie! You taught me that lesson. 

Sidney. What! I? 



/.Y DAYS OF OLD. 87 

Margaret. Yes. lying is one of your clever fac- 
ulties. When you left me alone in that pitiable tene- 
ment, saying that your father was dying and that you 
must hasten to his side: hut that you would soon re- 
turn - you lied! A moment ago. you stood there and 
professed to love me -you lied. Tis not through 
love that you seek me: but for the protecting cloak of 
my success in which you wish to shroud the evil of 
your past. You have stripped the mask from your 
face, and at last. 1 know you as a wolf preying upon 
society. 

SIDNEY. Long before T went to America, I fell in 
the toils of a wicked woman, whom in my blind in- 
fatuation I married. When I left, promising to re- 
turn to make you my wife. ] believed that woman 
dead. When I arrived in Bristol— I found the father, 
whom i loved, dead: the wife, whom 1 loathed, living. 
1 dared not return to tell the truth. But she is dead 
now. as Heaven is my witness. 

MAUGARET. Don't add lie to lie. or oath to oath! 
A woman either loves or hates, and how could I care 
for the vidian, who broke his faith. I once blindly 
believed every word yon uttered: I now as thorough- 
ly doubt. 

SIDNEY. And yet you love me! 

Margaret. No! (takes his ring fro in her finger) 
Here is the ring that you swore had never been dis 
honored : and with which you pledged undying love 
and affection, (throws ring at his feet) There it is: 
pick it- up and treasure it as a symbol of my undying 
hate. What I once thought was love for you, was 



88 IN DA YS OF OLD. 

but a flimsy sentiment, as unlike love as a glow-worm 
is unlike the sun. I have no love for you. All my 
heart and soul is centered in but one, my wronged 
and suffering husband. My life is his alone, for 
without him all else is dead. That is the love a 
woman gives. Fire or flood could not keep me from 
his side, if he called. 

Sidney. And do you think he will ever bestow 
even one thought upon the woman who plotted to 
to wreck his life and who was the self-confessed par- 
amour of his enemy. 

MARGARET. You lie, Sidney Wolfe! Beware! I 
can hate as deeply as J have loved. I despise a liar: 
I detest an oath-breaker. \n the sight of (lrCi\, you 
are both! 

SIDNEY. Your protests are useless: you must and 
shall be mine! starts for her. 

Margaret. Stand back! Touch me not, 1 com- 
mand you. Attempt to detain me, and the hand that 
has caressed you. may strike! 

Sidney. You would not strike me, Margaret: re- 
member, you and 1 have an interest in common. 

MARGARET. The child is dead. We have nothing 
in common now — not even humanity. Love is hate 
now. Let me pass. 

Sidney. No! you shall not cross the threshold of 
this room, until you fulfill your promise. I am not 
playing this game of hearts for nothing. T loved you 
in New York, and would have fought for you there: 
I love you still, and will tight tor you now. The 
cause of King George was buried beneath the ruins 
L.ofC. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 89 

of defeat: but I will triumph. I am not going to be 
outwitted now. I am going to make you my wife. I 
swear this, in your presence, woman, by the throne 
of Heaven! 

Margaret. You have sworn to do this'.- 

Sidney. I have! 

Margaret. At the feet of fate, one of these days 
\<>u will be compelled to east a broken oath! 

Sidney. Never! You shall be my wife? 

Margaret. Your wife — your wife! Sooner than 
stand at the altar with you. I would kill myself. I 
tell you proudly, that I will yet kneel at my hus- 
band's feet and implore his pardon for the past. 

Sidney. And 1 say that you never shall. You 
fancy there is a barrier that I cannot break — you are 
mistaken; I will shatter it to the winds, and living or 
dead, you shall be mine. Start* toward her. 

Margaret. Approach another step and T will cry 
for help. 

Sidney. You dare not! 

Margaret. Dare not! 

SIDNEY. No, you might alarm the household, 'tis 
true: but how will you explain my presence here. 

Margaret, (kneeling) Oh! in mercy's name, have 
pity on me, and leave this room at once. Grievously 
I have erred in the past, but now T beo- of you to go! 
If you ever cared for me, I pray you. go! 

Sidney, (lifting her up) Care for you: I always 
have, and shall until eternity! 

Enter Harold, l. 2. e. 



90 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

Harold. Pardon my intrusion. 

Margaret. Great Heavens! 

Harold. Margaret, do I disturb an assignation V 

Sidney. Who is this man, Margaret, and by what 
right does he so address you"? 

Harold. It is for me to demand an answer to 
that question. 

Margaret. For mercy's sake, Sidney — speak— 

Harold. Margaret, is this man your lover? 

Sidney. And if I am her lover and dare avow it— 
who, sir. are you'? 

Harold, (c.) Her husband! 

Sidney. Harold Peyton! 

Harold. 1 am Captain Harold Peyton and you are 
Major Sidney Wolfe. We have been enemies in time 
of war; we are now enemies in time of peace. My 
flag is not your flag, but under your banner and be- 
neath this roof, we are going to settle our hates for- 
ever, (leads Margaret off l. 2.) Draw and defend 
yourself. Major. I am here to tight! 

Sidney. Let us at it then, and may fortune crown 
her favorite, {they fight — Harold is disarmed) Vic- 
tory! Victory! 

Ned watches duel from outside window -when Harold 
is disarmed he (joes to door, R. 2. e., and finds it locked,. 
At Sidney's cry o/" Victory"-— Margaret enters and 
throws herself in front of Harold, foiling Sidney's 
attempt to /,■/'// her husband. 

Margaret. Hold! Thou shaft not kill! 

Ned bursts open the door— picks n/> Harold's sword. 



IN DAYS OF OLD. ill 

Xkd. Not yet! I am here to avenge my brother's 
murder. 

Sidney. Ned Prescott, the devil! 

Xkd. Aye: Ned Prescottj the out-east, ex-thief. 
ex-traitor, or what you will, but your superior never- 
theless. Defend yourself. 

They fight- Xkd slowly forcing Sidney up stage to the 
balcony window. Finally, Ned disarm* Sidney and 
runs him through. Sidney staggers back 'through win- 
dow and falls niton the balustrade, which breaks: hurl- 
ing him to the street below. 

Xkd. Margaret, that man will trouble you no 
more! To you arid your husband. I now kneel for 
forgiveness for the past. Wild and sinful I have 
been in my youthful days, but at last. I have con- 
quered myself and wish to make repartion for the 
evil 1 have committed. 

Margaret. Brother, you are freely forgiven. 

Xkd. Harold Peyton, dark clouds have hung over 
you for many years. Margaret, like many a weak 
woman, has erred: but she was not wholly to blame. 
Sympathy saves more souls than curses. Many of 
the accusations, which have been made, were false 
and I trust to see you reunited. 

Harold. I too wish for a reconciliation: but as 
3 ei I am not forgiven. 

Margaret, (aside) T cannot play this double 
part, longer. My heart will break, (on her knees— 
aloud passionately) Listen. Harry ;you have long ago 
been forgiven, but my proud heart would not humble 



92 IN DAYS OF OLD. 

itself to extend that pardon. You have much to for- 
give; when I have told you all— 

Harold. Hush! (lifts her up) I am still your 
husband, Margaret, and even when I seemed to 
wrong you most, you were and ever have remained 
tor me, the world's one woman! 

Margaret. Oh, Harold! in spite of all? 

Harold. Many times rebellion arose within my 
heart, fermented by the love that smouldered there, 
and could only be put down with with an iron hand. 

Margaret. And I only deserve your curses and 
and reproaches. How I have wronged you. 

Harold. Your love is life to me. I have hoped 
all through these gloomy years — hoped that you 
might learn how cruel, how unjust, you had been and 
return to me. I have tried to meet the worries and 
sorrows of life with a brave face — but, during the 
long and dreary months since last we met, Margaret, 
1 have lived ages. Love is not the whole duty of 
of mankind — sacrifice is sometimes better than fulfil- 
ment—it brings its own peace: a peace nothing else 
can give. 

Enter Jack and Nelle, r. 2. e. 

Margaret. And you forgive me, Harold? 
HAROLD, {taking her in his arms) Yes. and love 
you as in days of old. 

THE END. 



DEC 231902 



iih'imS^f Y 0F CONGRESS 



016 102 686 4 



